


Payment

by BlackCheckerRed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Other, Pre-Series, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCheckerRed/pseuds/BlackCheckerRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samuel Winchester’s free will was sacrificed to the  greater good and celestial need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Payment

Dean Winchester is a man obsessed with flesh that doesn’t have any right or business belonging to him.  
Dean is so lost in his own need that the only way heaven keeps him a righteous man is to let him have the one thing that they would forbid any other essential hero.  
Every time Sam has run from his brother, tried to break the hold that heaven granted without compassion or Sam’s own humanity had the right to, he was tracked down, broken and torn away from his own choice.  
Samuel Winchester’s free will was sacrificed to the greater good and celestial need.  
Dean was kept a saint only by the continued promise of ownership that comprised his little brother’s existence.  
That was why Sam kept coming back from the dead and why Dean always, always followed.  
And vice-a-versa.  
The world kept its sense of balance, with one Dean Winchester fighting on the side of right, because it decided that , in the grand universal scheme of things, sacrificing that ability to be his own person was an incredibly small price for Sam to pay.  
They hadn’t reckoned on other forces being able to manipulate Sam, to form him into the perfect vessel for Lucifer.  
None of the Winchesters, alive or dead, in heaven or hell, had ever accounted for Sam’s fuckin’ nobility.  
No side, of right or wrong, good or bad had ever taken in to account that Sam would throw himself into a hell pit, exacto cage lock with the devil because of some misguided, neuron scrambling chemical imbalance that masqueraded as love.  
Love for his brother, love for Dean and Sam’s own understanding of the narrow margin of limited choices that comprised his life. In this thing, this instant, Sam could make a choice unfettered by his brother’s obsessive needs or the world’s population and its cloudy sense of deserving to be saved and protected.  
Sam could make a choice that was just Sams.  
Heaven had breathed a collective sigh of relief that he had done something so stupid.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Things had been quiet awhile, though a broken version of Sam was still walking and talking, kicking it around the earthly realm and being a general all around bad ass, he was essentially a defused bomb without the power core detonation button that was his soul.  
Dean on the other hand, well everything above and below had felt him slipping.

 

Angels bit into their lower lips and wrapped themselves around waiting hope, while demons sat back with their feet propped on proverbial office chairs, enjoying the fact that Dean was doing the slow, inevitable slide into fucked up dark.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dean lived with and loved the small broken halves of a family, made a bit wholer with his presence, that was the triad of himself, Ben and Lisa.  
Some nights though, Dean would feel the need to be alone, out in the dark with the broad sky above him and the thought of his family’s innocent flesh and intentions pressing against him was a repellent thing.  
He would find himself wandering back alleys, observing from darkened passageways, the tall, slender forms of young dark haired men with wide eyes and felt his rage lodged like a hot ember in his chest.  
Because they weren’t Sam.  
They were never Sam and the insidious hunger that always hollowed him out with need, only assuaged by the possession of, his ownership of his little brother, was twisting from a carnal insatiability, into a brutal desire to hammer his fists into broken flesh, to spend his anger and hurt and sense of betrayal into an ugly release.  
A momentary cessation of his own pain.  
But Dean was still a righteous man, though at base level, just a man. Capable of love, for Lisa, for Ben, for his brother, with enough honor embedded into his warped psyche to maintain the façade of his promise to Sam.  
So Dean Winchester always turned away from the facile temptations presented in the form of look-a-like strangers and chose to return to Lisa’s bed and young Ben’s admiration, slipping into their home in the pre-dawn, gun metal grey shadows that streaked the suburban sky.  
Dean lived in stasis, accepting the comforts of his soft life and ignoring the intensity of existence that had been his life with Sam and the seductive tug of dark alleyways began to lessen.  
Both men would later look back upon their stumbling together as manipulated fate, supernatural forces crushing them back into each other’s dance space, but they were wrong.  
In a universe without scripts, in the lives of either the mundane or the great, with angels and demons trying their hand at the cosmic chessboard, the Winchester brothers reunion was a simple act of chance, a coincidence that occurred in a world without a template or a game plan.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
For a while, Dean tried to balance the two worlds that his life had become, convinced by Lisa’s sweetness, Ben’s trust and love but even while his skin crawled in rejection to Sam’s soulless state, his own irrational and crazed hunger for his brother’s flesh over ruled his own hope and logic.  
Dean reveled in punishing Sam’s empty, hungered for frame and broke Lisa and Ben with his need.  
When Sam came back, filling his own body with the essence of what made Sam human, Dean punished his brother again, for leaving him, for leaving Dean.  
Dean betrayed Lisa and Ben with the intensity of the pleasure that he took in breaking Sam to his own frame again, to marking Sam up with brutal hands and questing tongue.  
Leaving Dean with a constant hum under his skin, an ached for trembling in his bones every time Sam tried to hide a wince as he settled gingerly into a diner booth or his little brother walked with a slight hitch in his step.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dean would eventually stop having sex with women altogether, not because of lack of attraction or lack of desire and pleasure but because he was to harsh, his hands leaving bruises and marks that spoke of actual pain rather the tantalizing flirtation of skirting the edge of sensation.  
Dean was no misogynist, he had no desire to hurt women and felt badly when it happened, felt disgusted with himself, He tried fetish women but he kept breaking them, then he tried men, the whole underground BDSM scene where he was a sought after commodity, being a true dominant and aggressive top and not a switch.  
But, though he’d enjoyed himself, a submissive bottom wasn’t really what he wanted and even the faux bottoms, the ones playing at submission and desiring humiliation, their responses were never quite right.  
There was never the struggle for dominion that came, ipso facto, with Sam, Sam didn’t lie back and take it, Sam always went down swinging, you had to subdue Sam, you had to make Sam do what you wanted and Dean’s little brother, well, he was a powerful man, strong, equal.  
Dean and their dad had built him that way and then Sam had just fuckin’ run with it.  
Making Sam submit was a dance with a keen edge to it, a balanced manipulation of love, physical strength and the twisted nostalgia of a shared history, a shared paternity, two creatures housed in the same sacred womb.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dean had spent to much time being tortured, torturing others, both in hell and top side to have developed normal, mainstream reactions and responses to sex.  
It made him to dangerous in bed play, his aggression and dominant nature bordering on lethality and the only person able to handle him, to handle what he was and experience actual pleasure, the only person who had even a glimmer of understanding, was Sam.  
Sam fought harder than anyone Dean had ever met to keep himself sane, together and on a path mostly of his own choosing and Sam was strong, so fucking strong that it made Dean fight to keep his hands from shaking with want, his jaw hurt from clenching his back teeth to stop himself from salivating.  
Because all that raw strength that Sam possessed, coupled with an iron sense of internal petulance, those lethal hands and limbs that could kill with cold pragmatism, always, always juxtaposed with some soft, hidden core of kindness that made Sam a good person, was as honest as the thing that made him a good killer.  
All of that, all that complexity and dysfunction, all that rage and tight heat and confusion scented skin, wrapped around a frame that shot him smiles that Dean inadvertently had woven into a deep seated and bent dependence.  
All of that belonged to Dean.  
Dean owned his little brother and was content with it.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Sam still ran and though it enraged Dean, well, Dean was aware that the chase was an erotic form of fucked up foreplay between them, even if Sam didn’t.  
Sam still defied him and Dean, he took far to much pleasure in subduing his younger sibling to legitimately give anything but roaring lip service to his perceived suffering at the hands of Sam’s brotherly injustices.  
Sam stayed determined to find and fight his way to his own path, struggling to keep his all to often compromised integrity in his own grasp and Dean stayed the paranoid, compulsive control freak that Sam’s independence wrought in him.  
That was Dean’s weak point, his Achilles heel was always his younger brother, would always be his younger brother.  
Sam was the flaw in his big brother’s design logistics.  
But Sam’s weak point, the thing that Sam fought so relentlessly against, the thing that kept Sam, Sammy from happy ignorance and pets and kids and the-color-of-one’s-lawn obsession, was Dean.  
Sam had been suckled on his father’s obsession with the death of his own wife, Sam and Dean’s mother, but he’d been raised and supplemented on a lonely older boys need to hold onto something he loved, a creature that would love him in return.  
Dean’s need for his sibling, was the milk that Sam cut his baby teeth on.  
Sam’s adolescent angst was rebellion thrown in the path of growing hunger he saw in Dean’s eyes, and rage at the oblivious gaze of their vaunted Pater.  
The first run had been Sam at fourteen, running from the damage inhabited world that held exactly 2.5 people, Sam, Dean and occasionally,John.  
Sam had run in a zig-zag that he thought was not only clever but intelligent, so easy to outsmart his brilliant big brother and god like father.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Flagstaff was sweaty, cranky hot, Sam lost four and half pounds in salt and sweat.  
But that place was freedom, that place was poor choices, like bad food and lazing around watching cartoons until you got bored enough to go for a walk in whatever direction your feet decided to take you.  
That place was making your first non human, non supernatural , non related canine friend.  
That place was plucking tamarind fruit off trees and carrying your dog in your arms to the nearest gas station that would let you beg a cup of water because the side walks got to hot for your friend to walk on anymore.  
Flagstaff was a dusky girl, with puffy pink nipples that tasted like nothing but perfect skin and strong political opinions who engulfed his cock so sweetly that he actually started looking for a job.  
Until the day that Dean burst in his trailer house door and in his sex soaked rage, pulled Sam down to the strange scratch of naughahyde carpet and gave proof to the fact that Sam was some one’s possession, that Sam was Dean’s.  
Sam was always a little pissed off that years later, he couldn’t remember the name of the girl that had made him want to settle down and get a job at the age of fourteen but could still recognize the scent of sweaty, ugly, scratchy nauhgahyde furniture whenever he was in a ratty motel/hotel room with his brother.  
He occasionally thought that Dean might be triggered by it as well, since those were nights that Dean had a tendency to be unwontedly gentle (for Dean) when he started man handling Sam across the expanse of whatever space they were currently occupying.  
Sam didn’t give it much credence though, Dean didn’t think in those terms.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Sam never knew that Dean had been so broken, so bent and ugly and scared without Sam, that in his animal fueled hunt for his run-away little brother, he brutally raped an older man in a gas station bathroom, a man who shamefully fantasized about the awful event for the rest of his life.  
That Dean bit hard into the pelvis of a slight, to thin to pale, red headed girl, former willing partner, who cried big broken tears into his hands after wards, Dean cradling her and apologizing, while trying to leave at the same time, and never knew that the girl would never let a man go down on her again.  
Sam never understood or gleaned that he was the price of admission for his brothers’ entry into the ranks of both righteousness as well as sanity.  
Looking back though, a more mature Dean would later realize that Sam’s first flight had been a clue in the repeating pattern of their fucked up relationship. What Dean became without Sam was so internally frightening, so ugly that he learned not to look at it to closely and made certain that Sam stayed in immediate reach.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~```  
Dean drug Sam back across the country, taking much longer than they should’ve to reach their father in Maine because now that Dean had smashed the barrier in his conscience, he couldn’t seem to go a full twenty four hours without pushing Sam against an unyielding surface.  
A wall, a bed, a bathroom stall, the car, trying to devour Sam with his hands and his tongue and his cock, a surfeit and frenzied indulgence, as though Dean was giving himself the opportunity to take and taste, before delivering them both to their father.  
Dean thought that when they met up with their dad that he would be able to take Sam’s betrayal of flight and tuck it away into that place where Sam belonged to him, inside Dean’s own head.  
Dean thought that he would be able to shake it off into an other-realm when they were standing in front of their father, as though John wouldn’t look at his sons and see through the layers of road and gamey teen-age sweat.  
For the first time in Dean’s life, he looked into his father’s eyes with fear and in meeting John’s gaze, he saw knowledge, followed swiftly by heartbreaking disappointment and stunning to Dean, a distinct lack of surprise.  
John said nothing to Sam, only approached his youngest son and enfolded him in a helpless embrace and cried softly into his unruly hair, his eyes locked on the hot, jealous gaze of Dean.  
Sam was to nonplussed at the reception to utter a word.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dean thought that his father knowing would stop him, would shame the want he had for his little brother into nothingness, the keen and knowing gaze of the infamous John Winchester, a man who could face down evil without batting an eye, would be able to look at the thing that was wrong with Dean and save him from it.  
Save both his sons from it.  
But Dean didn’t stop, couldn’t.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
John never looked at him square again and though Dean tried desperately to curb his appetite for Sam, there were to many times that Dean would grasp Sam’s arm, hard at the elbow and pull him from the latest hotel room or squat they were in under the flimsiest of pretexts.  
Push and tug at the recalcitrant brother who fought him every step of the way, fought harder now that Sam saw how John’s eyes would slide away and their father’s mouth form a grim, straight line, never saying a word.  
Dean would take them to a private place that had been scoped out in advance, though this thing between them had been going on long enough that Dean knew that when they first hit a town and his eyes landed on the place that would keep them from prying eyes, Sam’s gaze would pick it out just as quickly.  
Dean would take Sam’s furious punches, blocking the more serious damage with a cruel and joyous laughter that made Sam ache in his heart and his nether regions, before Dean took him down with hungered desperation, hurting them both and wringing bone wracking, addictive pleasure from their entangled forms.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The first time Sam and Dean fought with true and serious intent was the night that Sam left for Stanford, Dean tried to make Sam stay, physically tried to control his brother for a reason outside of a shared sexuality.  
It was the first time Sam ever bested him, it left Dean enraged and aroused…and heartbroken.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
So Dean wandered into the world and tried to get over the bullshit that was his connection with Sam, tired in his heart and his mind, fucking everything he came across that said yes and getting increasingly ugly about it because it didn’t feel as good.  
Dean hooked up with Cassie because she decided to fuck around with him after the case was over.   
She was a girl after his own heart, just as fuckin’ dominant but supple with it, not easily taken down and it had been so long since Dean had anything to buck up against his own strength, that he forgot himself.  
Buried in between her legs, sweet slick against his lips, cunt throbbing with ache when he dipped his pointed tongue into the pulsing well of her center and Dean was so aroused he forgot himself, got overly enthusiastic, using his mouth as a weapon on the sweet, melting snatch under his tongue.  
He realized her sitting position as only a distant thing before getting a hard knuckled fist to his left ear, it made him pull off to yelp and before he could even react to anything but the sheer surprise, he felt another fist curl into the short spikes of his hair.  
Cassie’s hand came up in a hard ‘v’ under his throat, effectively throttling him, and her voice was a husked piece of smoke and threat when she informed that if he had no ability to eat pussy properly, she could invite Linda from the office to show him how it was done.

Dean had been caught, dangling off of a seductive hook when he’d unthinkingly responded, “OK”.  
His brain came back on line in time to register her amused laugh before he was flipped onto his back, seriously, flipped onto his back by this slight woman, and then he was unable to speak as Cassie’s hot mouth engulfed him, almost to the root.  
No one but Sam had ever been able to take all of him, and the stray thought of his brother made him even harder.  
A thing noticed by Cassie because she hummed in appreciation around his girth and then all thoughts were gone as he grasped one of the most exquisite female forms he’d been blessed to touch throughout his own sordid sexual history and lowered her wetness back to his eager mouth.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dean and Cassie ate each other like wounded animals and found a sweet pleasure in it, odd thing that no one around them understood or became comfortable with, and through the strange, human twist of their relationship, they fucked like protagonists.  
Dean fell in love and for the first time, the need to own Sam…faded a little, the thought of his brother living a long and happy life, without him, seemed like it could possibly, perhaps be a good thing.  
But then Dean told Cassie the truth, not about his brother but about his life and she walked away.  
When she gave him a sweeter kiss than any other they’d ever exchanged, Dean had known it was good-bye and then Cassie turned on her heel and walked away from him.  
Dean had the odd thought that she was more like Sam than he’d realized and delayed understanding kicked in, swift and cruel on the heels of being dumped.  
Cassie was, internally, almost exactly like Sam.  
Dean took a moment for the first time since his brother left him to catch a glimmer of understanding of why Sam might’ve left in the first place and it was because he was in love with Cassie and the thought of wandering the long trail of life without her hurt, hurt badly.  
Dean would miss the life that she’d denied them the chance to make together.  
It still didn’t hurt as badly as not having Sam.  
So Dean Winchester came to a sudden and strangely abrupt decision, considering the length of time and history that revolved around his unhealthy obsession for owning his younger sibling, he decided to just get ok with it.  
Dean wanted Sam, always had always would and if Sam hadn’t figured out that he was made for Dean, well, fuck it, kid was smart, he’d figure it out eventually.  
~Finis


End file.
